


Redemption

by sparxwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hope, M/M, Masiach, Redemption, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Stigmata
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’s trying to take you from me," says Lucifer, and Sam would have to be deaf and blind and stupid to miss the anger in his voice, the helplessness written on his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption

"He’s trying to take you from me," says Lucifer, and Sam would have to be deaf and blind and stupid to miss the anger in his voice, the helplessness written on his face.

Sam is neither deaf nor blind, and he’s certainly not stupid, cripple though he may be. The wounds on his feet make it hard to walk. The ones on his wrists have destroyed precious nerves and ruined the fine motor function of his fingers. If his head is not bound, the blood drips down his face and into his eyes, burning and blinding him. And every day, the exhaustion grinds itself a little more firmly into his skin, the pain lines his face a little more deeply, the colour leeches from him a little more.

So, yes. He may be a cripple. But he is not stupid.

"No, Lucifer," he says heavily, smiling gently at the Devil knelt by the side of his bed. He lifts one hand, wrapped tightly in layers and layers of bandages and there’s  _still_  red bleeding through the centre of it, and touches it gently to Lucifer’s head. “No. He’s not… that’s not what this is.”

"He is," insists Lucifer, quieter this time. He’s painfully aware of Sam’s vulnerability like this, the pale fragility of the human he once loved for being  so vibrant and  _alive_. “You are the last thing He ever made me for me, His final gift to me - my vessel, perfect, in every respect, a work of art for  _me_  - and now he wants to- to take it back-” Lucifer paused, a low noise of frustration dying in his throat. “Apologies. I did not mean to sound so… possessive.”

Sam laughs. It’s a quiet, tired sound, a weak shadow of the beautiful sound it used to be. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, stroking a shaking, uncooperative thumb across the warm softness of Lucifer’s hair. “I… understand how it looks. But this- this isn’t punishment for you. It’s… this is my redemption.”

Lucifer knows he shouldn’t be bitter. Sam wears the blood of his martyrdom well - that much is evident in the bright peace of his soul, the happiness on a face aged beyond recognition by pain and suffering. It is a sign that Sam’s soul is saved. And that’s a good thing; if anyone deserves happiness, peace, Heaven, then Sam does, the boy with demon blood who is still kind beyond reason despite all the world has thrown at him. But it still feels like a punishment, a final blow from his Father - look, watch as I take the most precious gift I ever gave you away. Look as I claim the one soul that loves you as my own.

"Redemption for  _you_ ,” he says softly, and his voice is not so much bitter as tired, scratching at an old wound. “He gives you a gift that He will not offer to his own son.

There’s a moment of silence, then, Sam’s hand slipping from Lucifer’s head to rest on the bedspread. Lucifer reaches over and curls his fingers around Sam’s, apology in his eyes - for being unable to help, for being unable to ease the pain, for being unable to shoulder this burden for him. For his jealousy of Sam’s burden.

Eventually, Sam speaks. “I will… give you redemption, then,” he says, and his lips are curled up at the corners, amusement in his eyes. “After all you’ve… done for me. It’s the least I can do.”  
Lucifer starts - he’d thought Sam had fallen asleep, as he does so often now, too ill and weak to cope with large periods of consciousness. “…Sam?” he says, a note of concern in his voice. Like he’s worried the human may have lost his mind.

"Redemption," says Sam firmly, as firmly as he can manage, hand shaking as he pulls it out from under Lucifer’s. It’s difficult to undo bandages with fingers that won’t curl properly, keep twitching without your permission, but Sam manages it through a combination of teeth and clumsy finger movements. Lucifer makes a noise low in his throat, when he realises what Sam’s doing - like he wants to argue, disapprove, wrap the bandages back up again - but something in Sam’s eyes stops him.

When the last of the bandages fall to the bed, stained with red roses of blood, it’s a simple matter of tilting his hand to get the blood to run from his wrists into his palm, down his fingers, until his index finger is wet with it. Sam smiles, satisfied, even as Lucifer’e eyes narrow in concern and confusion.

"Lucifer," he says quietly, bringing a shaking hand up to the Fallen angel’s forehead and pressing the tip off his index finger to the cold skin there. "In…" He pauses, takes a breath, fights for the energy to complete the words. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I… absolve you of… your sins. Amen." It’s hard to draw a cross with fingers that won’t move, but he manages it anyway.

Lucifer kneels there, perfectly still, and stares at Sam as the cross on his forehead bleeds thin lines of crimson down into his eyebrows. Stares as if Sam is some strange, rare new creature worthy of worship.

Sam’s not sure if he’s allowed to redeem people, absolve sins, but it feels… right. “Amen,” he repeats, the words little more than a breath, before slumping heavily back against the pillows, exhausted. His eyes slip closed, and he focuses on just breathing, just  _being_. It’s getting harder and harder every day.

"Sam," whispers Lucifer, voice reverent underneath the fear in it as he catches the human’s hand again, rewraps the bandages with skill learned from familiarity, stopping any more of that precious blood seeping from the freshly-exposed hole in Sam’s wrist. " _Sam_.” He knows it’s not true redemption, that he is still evil and a sinner in his Father’s eyes, but it’s more than he’s ever been granted before, and he clutches it to himself like a bright and tiny light.

He’s not surprised when Sam doesn’t reply, when a gentle brush of Grace against soul shows that the human is asleep. Sam is always asleep nowadays, the blood draining from his wrists and feet taking his energy with it as it flows. Lucifer does not begrude him his exhaustion.

Instead, he stays still and silent, knelt by the side of Sam’s bed and keeping vigil over the American Messiah. The cross of blood drawn on his head by Sam’s hand stays, even as it smears and dries into a thin, irritating crust.

Lucifer refuses to waste his second chance.


End file.
